


milk teeth

by soulofme



Category: TharnType the Series (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Friendship/Love, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: Type likes girls.But it’s not a girl Type’s kissing. It’s Tharn.
Relationships: Tharn Thara Kirigun/Type Thiwat Phawattakun
Comments: 5
Kudos: 234





	milk teeth

Tharn tells himself that there are certain, undeniable truths that he has to come to terms with. Something like that people, no matter what, are ultimately driven by their desire to be happy.

He figures it explains everything that’s wrong in the world well enough. Why did that man steal? Well, he had a hungry family to feed. Why did she cheat on her husband? Because she loved someone else, and it made her _happy_.

Of course, none of that is counting morals. But Tharn doesn’t think he has the right to talk to anybody about _morals_. He’s got them, somewhere deep inside, but as of recently they’ve been missing in action. Their sudden absence stems from yet another truth:

Type Phawattakun likes _girls_.

Type and girls has nothing to do with Tharn, if you look at this story from one angle. But passing a judgment on this requires a certain amount of nuance, some deep digging to prevent you from arriving at the wrong conclusion. Type’s preferences are none of Tharn’s business, but that’s only true on the assumption that _Type_ isn’t Tharn’s business.

And that, of course, is nowhere near the truth. Type likes girls. Tharn likes boys. Boys like Type. Type, actually, to be exact. But there are issues with that, like the whole girls things, as well as the fact that they’ve been friends since they were toddlers. They’ve built up a brotherhood, a bond as strong as the one Tharn shares with Thorn—his _actual_ brother—and he’s not dumb enough to shit on that.

Or at least he’d like to think he’s not.

Yet another truth is that Tharn doesn’t know himself, not anymore. Anyone’s guess is as good as his concerning what he is and isn’t capable of doing. Tharn Kirigun, the one that he recognized when he looked in the mirror for a good percentage of his life, died a horrible death some time ago. An electrocuted in the bathtub, fell-down-a-cliff sort of horrible death. The kind that people don’t get into detail about because it’s so damn _sad_.

Right. So, his personality or whatever is dead now. He’s a whole different person. Adulthood does that to you. _College_ does that to you. It’s a miracle he’d lasted this long, truly.

Which is why, he thinks, he’s halfway across the country, in a truck that might just break down, with a best friend that _might just_ hate him for dragging him all this way, feeling sorry for himself.

He doesn’t really remember how he managed to convince Type to come on this impromptu road trip, but it doesn’t matter this late into the game. They’re in this together, even if Type keeps asking to stop for fast food. Tharn eyes a ketchup stain on the edge of Type’s seat and wonders if it’ll come out easily or not.

Knowing his luck, probably not.

He’s not sure where they are now, just that it’s warm and calm. When he looks to his right, there’s the sea. The waves lap over the shore. There are lines of people laying on towels, and even more bobbing in the water like little buoys. From here, everyone looks so tiny.

When he turns back around, Type’s got one hand out of the window like he’s trying to catch the wind between his fingers. It’s late afternoon now, judging by how the sun hangs low in the sky. Everything around them is bathed in soft orange, like the side of Type’s face, or his hair, or the tanned hand hanging out of Tharn’s window.

Orange, he thinks, might just be his favorite color.

They stop for food again, and Tharn drives until he finds a motel. It smells like the sea, somehow, but that might just be wishful thinking on his part. As soon as he gets the door open, Type pushes past him and flops down onto the bed. It creaks beneath his weight.

He’s quiet, which is strange for him. He’s not entirely talkative, but he usually is when Tharn’s around. It’s always been like that. Even when they were kids.

But Type’s not saying a damn word now. Not even when Tharn sits next to him on the bed and offers him a greasy burger from an American food joint they’d passed. Type grabs the offered burger just to place it on the nightstand, sitting up so that his face is mere inches away from Tharn’s shoulder.

He says, “We’re best friends, right?”

It’s a strange question, especially since that’s been established for _years_ now. He doesn’t know what the hell Type is getting at.

“Yeah, of course.” His voice sounds uneasy, even to himself, but Type doesn’t mention it.

“Best friends,” Type murmurs, leaning forward to press his forehead against Tharn’s shoulder. “No matter what.”

“Yeah, but—Type, what’s all this about?”

Type reaches up to grab the side of his face. His hands are some paradoxical mix of soft and firm, which doesn’t make sense. But nothing about Type tends to make sense. He doesn’t make anything easy for those around him. That’s just not who he is.

“I wanna know what it feels like,” Type answers, sounding somehow drunk even though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol. Sleep-deprived then, maybe. They’d drove straight through the night and for practically all of the day.

“What?”

“If you kissed me,” Type begins, slow, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks when he blinks. “I wanna know how _that_ feels.”

And Tharn, caught completely off guard, can only say:

“But you like girls.”

He feels like an idiot when he says it, like he’s somehow been reverted back to an awkward fifteen-year-old painfully in love with his best friend. Except now he’s twenty-one, though he's still awkward, still in love with Type. But the pain has lessened, or maybe he’s gotten better at accepting it.

“Don’t tell me what I like,” Type mumbles, eyes flashing dangerously even though he isn’t yelling.

“You’re kidding, right?” Tharn asks, even though his throat feels tight.

“Do you want me to be?”

“I don’t know.”

He doesn’t. Especially not when it feels like the world is spinning around him, threatening to shake him upside down. It doesn’t help that Type doesn’t look like he’s messing around, or that Tharn’s heart feels like it might leap from his chest with how quickly it’s beating.

In the end, Type is impatient and doesn’t give him time to say anything else. Or think, for that matter. It would be endearing, if it weren’t for the way he’d dragged Tharn towards him and kissed him hard enough to hurt.

Somehow, even with all his rough edges, Type yields easily to him. He feels a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck, but whether it’s from the heat or his own frayed nerves, he doesn’t know. Tharn might be dumb, but he’s not dumb enough to kick an opportunity away.

So, he kisses Type back.

He pours everything he has into it, lets every bottled-up feeling spill out into the tiny space between their lips. He wants Type to feel it, feel the way Tharn has for all these years. Type’s moving again, and then Tharn’s pushed flat on his back. It takes seconds for Type to straddle his thighs, to slide his hands beneath the hem of Tharn’s shirt to rest on his stomach.

And even then, there’s a nasty voice in the back of his head screaming that Type likes _girls_. But it’s not a girl Type’s kissing. It’s _Tharn_. Tharn who plays the drums and has a band, Tharn who knew him when he still had his milk teeth, Tharn who’s like a brother to him, just like he’d always said.

 _Tharn, you’re the brother I never had_ , Type told him when they were growing up.

Tharn had accepted it, even if deep down he knew he felt something different, something that felt nothing like how he felt for Thorn. It was love, undoubtedly, but there was nothing familial about it. It made his heart race. It made his heart ache. It made him feel things, things that threatened to consume him if he thought about it too much.

He manages to come back to himself enough to hold Type up at a distance. His lips are so _red_.

_I did that. I did that to him._

Pride swells up inside of him even though Tharn valiantly tries to stomp it out. Type sits back on Tharn’s lap, hands still flat on his stomach. Tharn feels this strange mixture of hot and cold.

“Type, we can’t do this.”

It hurts to say, hurts more than anything Tharn’s ever experienced. He doesn’t look at Type when he says it, too damn afraid to see whatever expression he’ll find there.

“Why?” Type asks simply, though there’s a sharp edge to his voice that makes Tharn wince.

“Because we’re _friends_ ,” Tharn says, as if that’s what he’s ever looked at Type simply as. “And besides, you like _women_ , Type!”

“Stop fucking tell me what I like!” Type explodes, shoving hard at Tharn’s chest. “You don’t know jack shit about that, so just _stop_.”

Tharn feels his jaw drop before he can stop himself. He rakes a hand through his hair and lets his head fall back against the bed.

“Fine.”

“I’ve been in love with you,” Type begins, so soft that Tharn almost tells himself he’s imagining it, “for fucking _years_ , okay? I’m sorry about this, but just…fuck, Tharn, give me _one_ day!”

The words spill out of him, louder the more emotional he gets. They feel like they’re stabbing Tharn in the chest, right into his fragile heart that might give out of this continues for any longer.

“You’re my best friend,” Tharn says, tongue feeling two sizes too big for his mouth. “It’s easy to love you.”

“Like a brother?”

“No,” Tharn says, scared even though there’s a hopeful expression on Type’s face. “Not like a brother. Something else.”

It’s Tharn who kisses first then, in the soft kind of way all the romance novel’s he’s ever glanced through describe. But there’s something there, something beneath it all that makes Tharn feel like he’s on fire.

The flames burst from him when Type says, “Lemme suck you off.”

“What?” Tharn croaks, watching wide-eyed as Type slides off the bed and pushes his thighs apart.

“I’ve been practicing,” he says simply, which makes jealousy flare up inside of Tharn before he can stop himself.

Type’s fingers rest low on his stomach, inches away from his crotch. His hands are solid and sure, like he knows exactly what to do, and that shouldn’t make Tharn feel as dizzy as it does. He nods because he’s positive he can’t speak, and the dirty smirk Type gives him makes his toes curl in his socks.

Type unbuttons his jeans torturously slow, leaning forward to kiss gently at the head of Tharn’s cock through his underwear. He feels the way Type smiles against him when he feels how hard Tharn is. His next kiss is firmer, his tongue sneaking out to press against him through the fabric of his boxers until there’s a damp spot left behind.

“Type,” he whispers, sounding breathless already.

And Type reaches for the band of his boxers, curling his fingers tight into the fabric. There’s another pause, which Tharn recognizes as his last chance to back out.

He tangles his fingers into Type’s fringe and lightly tugs.

Type pulls his boxers and jeans down, just enough to free his cock. He’s embarrassingly hard, red all over and already dripping onto his stomach.

Type drags the flat of his tongue up his length, stopping only to curl it around the flared head of Tharn’s cock. Tharn bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to bleed, gripping the sheets until his knuckles turn white so that he doesn’t pull on Type’s hair.

Type sucks cock the way he does everything else: with determination and finesse when others in his position would crumble under the pressure. One hand settles at the base of Tharn’s cock, sometimes drifting lower to knead his balls.

“Shit,” Tharn gasps when Type sucks particularly hard on an upstroke.

Type pulls off, just so, and jacks Tharn off with one hand. His hand is sticky with Tharn’s precome when he pulls it off, staring down at it almost contemplatively.

“You’re wet,” he whispers, leaning forward to barely press his lips to Tharn’s cock. “I did that, huh?”

“All you,” Tharn manages to get out. “Type, baby, I—”

He cuts himself off, embarrassed, and Type goes stiff between his legs, his entire body freezing.

“I’m sorry,” Tharn babbles, “I just—”

“Am I your baby?” Type asks, turning his head to the side, licking moisture off his swollen bottom lip.

“I…”

“I wanna be,” Type says, slowly beginning to rub his wet hand against Tharn’s cock again. “Wanna be your everything.”

He sucks Tharn down again, more aggressively than before. His cheeks hollow as he takes Tharn deep into his mouth, sinking down until his lips meet his fingers at the base of Tharn’s dick. He moans, softly, and the slight vibration makes Tharn’s stomach flip.

“Type,” he says, because that’s the only thing he can think. “Baby, I’m…”

_What?_

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t _know_.

Type looks up at him and Tharn almost loses it right there. He’s flushed and sweaty, cheeks bulging almost comically as he grinds Tharn’s cock down against his tongue. His free hand his palming frantically at himself, moving so fast that it looks like a blur from up here.

“Shit,” Tharn whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, hips jerking as Type puts his all into the blowjob.

A _blowjob_ from _Type_. Tharn doesn’t know what kind of alternate universe he’s living in at the moment, but he’d very much like to stay here. Preferably forever. Fuck real life.

He feels it, the way his orgasm begins to creep up on him. He’s shaking, not ready to let go yet, but then Type moans around him again and Tharn’s only fucking _human_. He gets out this half-groan, half-growl that sounds feral even to himself, unintentionally reaching for Type’s hair to push him down against his hipbones.

When he opens his eyes, there are spots in his vision. His chest aches as he tries to get his breathing under control. Type’s mouth pops off of him and Tharn sits up quickly, apologies spewing from his lips.

And Type, fucking _Type_ , licks his lips, hums, and says:

“We’re gonna do that again, right?”

The logical part of Tharn’s brain reminds him that they have to talk about this, whatever the hell this _is_ , before going any further. He’s sure Type knows that too, but…well, they’re not at the point right now, are they? Surely they can put it off for a few hours.

“I—yeah, if you want,” Tharn replies, trying not to sound too eager. "Did you...?"

He doesn't finish his question, but the way Type smiles tells him everything he needs to know.

“Good,” Type chirps, standing up and disappearing into the bathroom to rinse his mouth out.

Tharn buries his face into his hands and screams.


End file.
